Interlude: Diamond City
by Lurea
Summary: Without looking at him or shifting on the stool, MacCready remarked, "Vadim, my super-secret spy decoder ring is picking up a message. Hmm…F-blank-blank-K-Y-O-U. Whatever can that mean?" Deacon stood up and picked up his drink.  "Hey, pal, I don't want any trouble.  Just having a drink after a long day of—guarding.  Being a guard.  You know how it goes."


Deacon was sitting at the end of the bar, farthest from Vadim, when the entry door slammed open, letting in a gust of cool air, scented like ozone. It was midnight in Diamond City and most of the respectable citizen were tucked tightly up in bed.

Someone walked in, and Vadim hailed him cheerfully. "MacCready, my friend. Come, pull up stool and have drink." Deacon scowled down at his drink. Had he pissed off a voodoo princess recently? He didn't think so, but how else to account for this run of bad lucK? MacCready himself walked over and leaned on the counter. Still wearing leathers, the conceited jerk, probably because he knew how good they made his ass look.

He couldn't even imagine why he was here. Last he'd heard, MacCready was still hanging around The Third Rail's VIP room, trolling for a new client. While various low-level Gunners tried to tell people that he was unreliable or some crap. Dummies. They didn't realize that they were so disliked that was practically a recommendation. They probably sent him more clients than they scared away.

And Sir knows this, because Sir is keeping tabs on MacCready, why exactly? his interior voice, the coldly rational part of himself commented. It had recently started sounding more like a British butler after he listened to that tape of detective stories. Strangely enough, also about the time that Deacon's sex life experienced an up-tick in activity, because as much as he respected her, he really didn't need Dez's voice in his head all the time. As for that other, well, intel was his business, wasn't it?

MacCready dropped onto a stool and accepted a drink, while Deacon debated slipping away quietly. This was not a good time for him. He was expecting a certain someone to arrive in Diamond City in the next few hours, trailed by a bot and a dog, of all things. He couldn't wait to see how that person would shake things up.

Without looking at him or shifting on the stool, MacCready remarked, "Vadim, my super-secret spy decoder ring is picking up a message. Hmm…F-blank-blank-K-Y-O-U. Whatever can that mean?"

Vadim laughed heartily and slapped his shoulder, "Oh, fuck you, good joke!"

MacCready looked over at Deacon. "Well, well. Who would think that a piece of trash from a cereal box would end up in Diamond City?"

Deacon straightened up and tried to look nonchalant. "Sorry, man. Are you addressing me?"

"I don't know, Vadim, you see any other Diamond City guards suspiciously hanging around?"

Vadim snorted. "Him? Yes, he says that he is guard." Shrugged expansively. "Me, I don't know. Do you know him?"

Deacon stood up and picked up his drink. "Hey, pal, I don't want any trouble. Just having a drink after a long day of—guarding. Being a guard. You know how it goes." Left a generous tip on the counter with a hard look at Vadim. Curiosity and cats, Vadim.

Vadim chuckled and scooped up the caps. "I joke only. Is not like you have big secret to hide and desperately trying to lay low, eh?"

MacCready laughed. "Yeah, only a fool would try that, right, Vadim? I mean, come on, our friend's a little slow but he's not that dumb."

Deacon gritted his teeth. "I'll defer to your vast experience in being the dimmest bulb in the box."

He walked to the back of the room and sat down at a table. Considered cutting his losses and scooting out, but… But. That jerk. Plus, The Dugout was conveniently close to the entrance and open all night. He'd planned on staying here until he heard gunfire—or explosions, because wherever Sole went, gunfire and blood followed like her favorite perfume. Once he heard it, he'd head out, watch her as she entered and see what she was doing.

Hanging around the noodle stand or even outside would be a little more visible than he preferred, but he supposed better that than-

MacCready followed him over to the table. "Shame, you got up, and I thought you were leaving." He braced his hand flat on it, and raised his voice. "So, Frank, you're a guard now. After all those years when you swore you'd end up six feet under before supporting McDonough…Frank."

D for Deacon, E for Earl, F for Frank. Cute. Deacon smiled pleasantly, but felt his jaw tighten. "Aww, did you learn a new letter? Don't give up! You'll get to the end of the alphabet someday."

"Well, Frank, if you could, I figure I can, too," MacCready snapped and the little bastard shoved the table two inches into his diaphragm, taking him by surprise and making him double over coughing. Deacon shoved back and it smacked into MacCready's hip, hopefully leaving a bruise.

"Hey, no messing with furniture!" Vadim called.

MacCready straightened up again. "Wow, that cough sounds bad, Frank. Maybe you should head over to the doctor and get it checked out." He glared at Deacon under the brim of his hat. "Vadim is my friend," he hissed. "Get out of here, you—"

Deacon smiled back and saluted him with his bottle of beer. "Thanks, friend, but I was here first so-" Fuck off, was what he was about to say, and then he remembered Hancock's office and his voice stumbled and instead he finished breathily, "blow me." Then he thought, oh shit.

MacCready's eyes narrowed and he looked Deacon over. Grinned evilly. "Got a watch?"

MacCready didn't give him a chance to answer. He grabbed Deacon's arm and yanked him to his feet. Jerk was stronger than he looked. He dragged Deacon over to the door—the exit door. Um, okay, little surprised by that. Not that he'd been expecting to end up in one of Vadim's rooms since the minute that Mac arrived but whatever. Oh, no, certainly not, why ever would Sir think that? Snotty-Brit commented.

Vadim waved cheerfully, "Goodbye, Mr. Frank, see you soon—or perhaps not, eh?"

"Not if I see you first, Vadim," Deacon said.

The door slammed behind them. Mac pulled Deacon over to the narrow space, not even big enough to be called an alley, behind Earl Sterling's house and shoved him face-first against the wall. And this was a really bad idea, because Deacon had places to be and explosions to see, but as logical as that sounded, he couldn't bring himself to move.

"I'd just like to point out that I haven't actually agreed to this," Deacon said. Snooty Brit butler pointed out that what he should do is pull away, and smile distantly, and go to some other watching post—it's not like he doesn't have them; he's been snooping around the Great Green Jewel since long before Piper made it fashionable.

MacCready planted a hand in the center of his back to hold him in place, and unfastened the armor clip at his left shoulder. "So you're a coward." Exactly, mental-Dez agreed, and it's kept him alive. That, combined with the edge in MacCready's voice, made his breathing hitch, and suddenly feel...unpleasantly exposed in a way that was worse than letting someone half-undress him in a fucking alley in Diamond City.

MacCready's hands paused, because he had noticed his silence, because the stupid jerk did notice things like that and Deacon licked his lips and managed to say lightly, even sounding a little bored: "Maybe I'm just, like, really busy." Reassured, MacCready unclipped the other shoulder and started working on the buckles at his waist. His hands felt warm.

One by one, the buckles came loose and then he reached around him to push it off. "Yeah, busy being a coward," MacCready said, his tone teasing and Deacon could feel his breath on the back of his neck. He started undoing the arm pieces.

"Okay, fine, but this'll go just as well as before. Well for me, I mean. Not for you." Deacon's heart was pounding. And his groin, well, let's not even talk about what the feeling of MacCready's hands on him, undressing him, was doing to that region.

Especially when Sir continually suggests how much he dislikes MacCready, Brit-butler commented drily. Okay, well, you can seriously dislike someone and still occasionally want to fuck them? That was a thing, right?

The arm pieces fell at his feet. "You're losing all my nice stuff," Deacon protested. Mac planted a hand on the center of his back and then bent over to pull the leg armor off. Deacon bit the inside of his cheek. Felt MacCready straighten and his fist curl in the back of Deacon's shirt.

"Watch?" MacCready demanded.

Deacon sighed and pulled it out of a pocket. "Here."

Then Mac yanked his pants down and for an instant, his heart stopped, imagining that the next thing he would feel would be Mac's dick breaching him. Instead, MacCready spun him back around and pushed him down on a row of the old stadium seats.

"I object to this manhandling," Deacon said, sprawled back across the seats. His pants were tangled around his ankles.

"Shut up," MacCready said, dropping to his knees before him. He stripped the pants the rest of the way off and shoved Deacon's legs apart.

Deacon felt exposed, vulnerable and horribly turned on. He was so hard, his cock was already leaking pre-come and any minute, he expected a guard to look around a corner of the house and see them. MacCready leaned over until Deacon could feel his breath and looked up him. "Ready?"

Deacon glanced down at the stopwatch. He had a sinking feeling in his stomach, like walking around a tree and suddenly spotting a Deathclaw or a yao guai—the feeling that meant you're in way deeper than planned. "Ready." Mac's mouth engulfed him and he clicked the watch.

It was immediately almost the polar opposite of the way that Mac had blown him the last time at the Dugout—that had been...well, polite, not too sloppy, teeth padded by tongue and a decorous amount of suction. Sort of a hi-new-friend-welcome-to-the-neighborhood kind of blowjob. This was more like strafing the neighborhood with an assault rifle and then dropping a few Molotov cocktails on it for good measure. MacCready took him in until his dick hit the back of his throat, and then pumped the rest of him with his hand, fast, hard and wet, saliva drooling down Deacon's shaft from his mouth, where his hand rubbed it all over the rest of his dick. The immediate friction surprised a hastily-stifled moan from Deacon. Mac glanced up at Deacon, his blue eyes intent, focused, and god, seeing that was too damn hot, he had to look away. Oh, shit, he was screwed.

He wanted to thrust up in the wet warm mouth fastened on him, sucking hard, but he was sprawled across the half-wrecked stadium seats-back permanently stuck in the recline position, seat feeling wobbly enough to crumple under him if he squirmed too much- with MacCready between his legs. Mac had his right knee hooked over the top of his shoulder, and Deacon had no leverage, he couldn't thrust against that maddeningly hot mouth, and he couldn't push Mac away without losing, so he was pinned, unable to do anything, and going out of his fucking mind, while MacCready's mouth and hands worked him over, with every suck and lick and nip and bite.

MacCready pulled away and said, "Time?" Deacon's hand was actually shaking when he lifted it and for a second, none of the numbers meant anything because he felt Mac's head moving down, ready to take him again, and he couldn't decide if he should be begging him to do it or begging him to stop. "One—one minute," he rasped and MacCready made a little huff of satisfaction and took him in, and oh god, it felt so good.

Then he felt a cool line of moisture snake its way from his balls to his hole and then push in, and his brain eventually figured out that the coolness was lube, the finger was MacCready's and Deacon was literally fucked.

Mac was in a hurry, seconds ticking away after all, and quickly added a second finger. More cool lube sliding into him, hot mouth sucking down on him, and MacCready spread his fingers inside, grazed Deacon's prostate and then settled down to fucking him hard and fast, deliciously slick and curving to rub his prostate about every other stroke. Deacon was shocked to hear himself groaning, and struggled to suppress it. He was covered in sweat, felt it trickling down the small of his back and still feeling like he was about to slide off the goddamn metal seat that MacCready had him trapped on.

Mac pulled free. "Time?" He asked, and he could hear how smug the other man sounded, because Deacon was a complete mess, and he lifted the watch and barely managed to choke out, "One-fifty." MacCready was smiling as he bent down to suck Deacon back in, and Deacon moaned to see his cock sliding between Mac's lips, saliva pooling in the corners. And then his fingers curved and stroked, spreading him wide open, open enough for MacCready to fuck him. And that thought, imagining MacCready lifting his legs higher, pulling his cock out and thrusting into him in one smooth slide—tipped him over the edge, made him explode, come bursting out of his cock, rim clenching on Mac's fingers and babbling helplessly, "Oh god, Jesus, yes, fuck fuck..."

MacCready's throat moved as he swallowed, and Deacon hunched over, groaning, when his fingers slid out. MacCready pulled away, and reached over to where the watch was lying. "Two minutes twenty seconds," he said, tone dark with satisfaction. "I win."

"I think you cheated," Deacon said, trying for a cool tone and instead just sounding breathless. "That wasn't just a blowjob."

He managed to open his eyes, and looked down to Mac's face, where he was leaning his head casually against Deacon's right thigh, his face flushed and his blue eyes blown wide and dark.

"I just swallowed your come," MacCready said, his voice rumbling low and filthy across Deacon's skin. "I think that counts." He shifted just a little, and it's a sudden reminder that he hasn't gotten off, and Deacon was still stretched and open and could totally take his cock. And as soon as he thought that, it was all he can think about.

"Fuck me," he said through dry lips, and just to make the meaning perfectly clear, he flexed the knee on Mac's shoulder, and Mac closed his eyes and his breathing hitched, one hand going down to his belt. Belts.

"You sure?" he said in that low sexy tone that Deacon had only heard from him once before, and Deacon's heart skipped a fucking beat.

Then MacCready's eyes snap open and they're still blown and…wanting…but he pulled away, shrugging Deacon's knee off his shoulder, and wiping his mouth. "Wait a minute. For a second, I actually forgot who I was with." He moved back until no parts of their bodies were touching, and said, "Deacon, I don't know what you want, but I'm not playing your games anymore."

Deacon could say, you, or he could say, they're not games, but both of those would be true and if there's one thing, he doesn't do, it's tell the truth. So instead he said, "Damn, caught me out, you can't blame a guy for trying, right?"

MacCready stood up and straightened his clothing, and his eyes went chilly. "Yeah, actually. I can. Leave me alone."

Damn it, MacCready, and the tone is definitely a little wistful, too wistful because snotty-Brit raised his eyebrows chidingly. Deacon was unaware that he had spoken aloud until Mac's spine stiffens even more.

He whirled around and stared down at Deacon. "I win The Dugout. Fair and square. Whatever your mission, or intel or whatever, you can do it outside." He walked off, leaving Deacon staring after him.


End file.
